


Little Thief

by WyrdSmith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/F, Just a little dubious consent warning to placate the trigger-happy readers, M/M, Magical Creatures, Multi, NOT RAPE, light bashing, ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyrdSmith/pseuds/WyrdSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark Lords' dreams -- both Dark Lords, that is -- are about to come true, thanks to ... their Librarian? </p><p>Dark Lords Thomas Voldemort and Salazar Slytherin have been soulbonded and sexually involved for over three decades, despite the fact that Salazar is trapped in a magical portrait and they  have never touched. That is, until a little Death Eater Librarian determined to earn a little respect completes a self-appointed quest that has entirely unexpected consequences.</p><p>This is het and slash and multi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dark Lord's Librarian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slayer of destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=slayer+of+destiny).



> Magic creature dom/sub with corresponding questionable but ultimately willing consent. Dedicated to 'slayer of destiny' for her encouragement and her own battles getting folks to see the difference between a little hair-pulling, Rhett Buttler-style moment versus the stuff for which I would cheerfully gut someone. (For the record, this is NOT the latter.)

oooooooooooooooooooo

LITTLE THIEF

Lucius and Severus were seated on one of the long couches in the Lord’s Study, ostensibly reviewing plans and information regarding the activities of the Death Eaters but mostly just visiting with their Lord and friend, Thomas Marvolo Voldemort. This was an evening routine for the three wizards, who had been friends almost as long as the two lesser wizards had served Lord Voldemort. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy served as the Lord’s Left and Right Hands within the Dark, and had earned their Lord’s trust through intense effort, unparalleled loyalty and great personal sacrifice.

Seated in his favorite, wing-backed chair, facing the fireplace, brandy in hand, Thomas looked in every way the epitome of a powerful, dignified wizard just approaching his middle years. He was a tall, powerfully-built, handsome man with strong, even features that were all the more remarkable because they were merely backdrop for the sheer presence of the man. Rich, dark hair cut in a formal style to just brush his collar was beginning to gray a bit. His strong jaw, nose and cheekbones were quite enough to catch interested gazes from both genders. He had straight, dark eyebrows that were remarkably expressive of the powerful wizard’s moods and opinions. His mouth was firm and well-formed, with a full lower lip that hinted at the man’s passionate nature.

And his eyes were blood red.

Even in a world filled with magic, Lord Voldemort’s eyes were unusual. Very few knew the truth of why and how the man’s formerly dark-green eyes had turned to vibrant red, although speculation ran wild. Some declared the wizard had participated in the Darkest of Dark Rituals and had become part demon. Others noted that it was ‘common knowledge’ that only the most powerful Dark Lords had red eyes, as a sign of their favor with Magic herself. Still others were certain that it was a hereditary trait, gained when the young Thomas Riddle was accepted by family magic into the Line and Heirship of Slytherin House.

In truth, they were all correct. But Voldemort did not choose to enlighten anyone. He preferred the mystery that swirled around him, and used the fear that some of the stories generated to further increase the distance between himself and those who yearned for his bed. He did not enjoy such attentions, having sown his wild oats as all young men and women do and decided that the vapid masses held no interest for him beyond the needs of the moment. Now, in his fifth decade, he was considerably more settled into his role as the Leader of the Dark, Master of the Death Eaters, and a powerful Lord in all the ways that matter.

It was amusing to him that, even in the midst of war between the Light and the Dark, somehow Lord Voldemort was still among the most desirable bachelors of Wizarding Great Britain. Despite the fact that warfare was unquestionably being waged between the two opposing forces, neither the public nor the Ministry was particularly interested in seeing the Dark sequestered in secret locations and brewing up evil plans in dark, dank mansions somewhere. Lord Malfoy and Lord Voldemort had taken that dragon by the nares the instant Albus Dumbledore proposed criminalizing the Dark and had walked the Wizengamot and the public (via multiple newspapers, magazines and magical radio) through the utter folly of causing over half of the more wealthy and magically- and politically-powerful citizens to go into hiding. The economic damage alone would be catastrophic. Fortunately, common sense had prevailed and the status quo was preserved. It was in no way a criminal offense to belong to the Dark, and the general attitude regarding the less legal or moral actions of either the Light or the Dark in their efforts to destabilize each other amounted to a sort of interested observation, so long as all of the more harmful activities were not directed at any innocents.

This evening, the three old friends were well past the business of war and the management of the Death Eaters and had progressed to an amused discussion of the gifts given to Lord Voldemort by the individual members of his organization in honor of Yule and the Lord’s birthday the prior month. It was now nearing the end of January, and Lucius had been tasked with the chore of directing the plethora of gifts to their ultimate location.

To Severus’s endless amusement, he was not enjoying the job.

“Fine, so all of the wines and fine liquor have been added to your Cellars, and all of the lesser-quality spirits are in the Manor’s kitchens for use in cooking. You realize you’re going to have about thirty inebriated house elves sometime soon, don’t you? I believe the House Elves celebrate their bonding anniversary sometime next month, and by giving them all of this alcohol, you’re giving them permission to have at it.” Lucius peered over his glass at the amused Lord of the Manor, and rolled his eyes when the man chuckled richly as his only reply. This was one of the issues on which the two wizards disagreed. Lucius was of the opinion that elves should be neither seen nor heard and certainly not catered to. Thomas saw no harm at all, and much good, in treating the elves with some amount of tolerance and respect, and occasionally gave them little rewards for their dedication. Lucius felt that all the reward a house elf deserved was the original terms of the elf’s voluntary enslavement, which generally obligated an elf’s master to provide ambient magic, shelter, food, at least thirty hours of sleep a week, etc. 

Of course, none of the Malfoys had ever been saved by their own house elves, either. Several years ago, the Light’s forces had attempted to overrun the manor homes of several of the powerful Dark during Samhain, a particularly revered night for those who followed the Old Ways. Dumbledore, Weasley and most of the muggleborns and half-bloods had taken up the muggle version of holy days and converted them simply to ‘holidays’. Samhain was, to the Light, a day known as ‘Halloween’ and – in addition to eating a disgusting amount of candy -- was celebrated by mocking the Old Ways, engaging in buffoonery and lampooning witches, brooms, familiars, ghosts, certain magical creatures, and numerous items of Pagan power and significance. The Light knew that those who followed the Old Ways would have gathered in the Darken Woods to honor Samhain as it was meant to be experienced, and used one of the Dark’s most holy nights to launch an attack on the mostly-vacant manor homes. The Malfoy’s estate had been largely overrun by so-called ‘soldiers of the Light’, as had been most other targeted manors. Lord Voldemort’s manor, however, had become something of a death trap for the invaders, who found to their astonishment that Lord Voldemort’s house elves could be just as scary and vicious as the wizard himself. 

Possibly more so.

That was one of the rare salvos of the war that had earned the intervention of the Ministry of Magic and the wizarding public. Albus Dumbledore had assured his people that he would be able to use his power as Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock to protect them should anything go awry. It was apparently his intention to claim ‘spoils of war’ on all that the Light managed to steal from the Dark, including the estates and their servants. Dumbledore and his people had been furious when they found themselves fined heavily, some even serving prison sentences, for their openly criminal actions. The damage done to all of the manor homes targeted that night had been horrific, and many family heirlooms and even family retainers had been lost forever. The Wizarding World judged those actions to be more in the realm of organized thugs than war, and the Light’s reputation suffered accordingly. Although they were pleased with the public outcry, the elite of the Dark were nevertheless left with a number of severely damaged manor homes.

With the clear exception, that is, of Lord Voldemort’s. When Voldemort and his people apparated to his estate, concurrent with the arrival of a corps of Aurors and the Minister of Magic himself (who had been horrified to realize that his largest contributor was about to suffer a huge financial setback that would potentially escalate the war into full-blown devastation), the sight that met them had made the front page of wizarding newspapers worldwide. Stacked like so much kindling on the front lawn of the gracious estate were all of the would-be invaders – some alive, others obviously deceased. Surrounding the invaders like demons hosting a blood magic ritual were what Voldemort cheerfully described as ‘house elves in their truest guise’. These fierce, bloodied creatures were a far cry from the slavering, pandering servants that most people overlooked or disregarded. These were warriors, so vicious in their defense of their Lord’s home and properties that they earned a personal visit from Ragnok, the chieftain of the goblin nation, who commended them for their bloodthirsty behavior. 

Upon arriving at his Manor, Voldemort had simply walked past his servants, completely composed and looking for all the world as if they had done nothing at all unexpected. As he passed his personal house elf Bastion, who was so thoroughly soaked in blood that it dripped from his hair and nose to the ground at his feet, Voldemort said calmly, “Well done. Clean up this mess, then return to your duties. And Bastion? As commander of this effort, you have my permission to bond with Sweedee, and may produce one babe. Be sure the others are suitably fed and rewarded within the next few days. I’ll expect my usual bath to be prepared within thirty minutes. Hmm … perhaps a light snack as well? I’m feeling peckish.” He had then disappeared into his home without a backward glance at the gaping aurors and Minister -- who had been promptly shooed away with their “baggage” – or at his stunned Death Eaters. The latter had ruefully accepted the assistance of the Voldemort house elves at restoring their own Manors to a degree of livability for the remainder of the night (the Ministry would later extract heavy fines from the ‘Light” to effect full repairs and punishment) and had learned their lesson. From that point forward, those who served Lord Voldemort – and those others who didn’t but were capable of learning from someone else’s success – began to model their treatment of house elves after that of their Lord.

Still, Lucius didn’t have to like it. It was one thing to give your servants their own small rooms for a degree of privacy, and two meals a day. It was quite another to spoil them rotten and give them tacit permission for a “shindig”. He glared lightly at a chortling Severus, who really didn’t care either way about the issue of house elves but who greatly enjoyed his friend’s discomfiture, and doggedly continued down the list of gifts.

Fortunately for Lucius’ temper, he was looking down at the parchment in his lap when the dignified Lord Voldemort winked at Severus and raised his glass of brandy in a cheerful toast for their stuffy companion.

Lucius had just arrived at the very short list of Death Eaters who had no gift by their name, meaning their gift to Lord Voldemort had somehow gone missing or they had not given a gift to him at all. The very idea of the latter possibility would have been laughable, except that there were just a few lower-ranked Death Eaters who would risk such a thing just to get their Lord’s attention. Running silver eyes down the parchment, he had just begun to speak when they were interrupted by two sharp knocks on the Study doors.

Exchanging a brief look of surprise, Voldemort set his glass down on the side table and called out in a strong voice, “Enter!” The three men watched as the large doors opened and Leonard Goyle stepped into the room, pausing mere feet into the room as he looked at Lord Voldemort. Bowing slightly, the huge man said with slight irritation, “My Lord, forgive my interruption. Your Librarian says she needs to see you, and insists that it cannot wait.” He paused and waited, face expressionless. 

Voldemort stared at him for a moment, then glanced questioningly at Lucius and Severus. The potions master said thoughtfully, “That would be …. Miss le Fey, one of the secondary Line.” Obsidian eyes focused on Voldemort as the man’s remarkable memory summoned the information he required. “Alaria le Fey. Joined the Death Eaters two and a half years ago. Quiet woman, requested her position as Librarian. Done a wonderful job in organizing and preserving your tomes, my Lord.” He turned to look at Lucius, who had already tapped the woman’s name and was studying the parchment as it provided more information. As Severus stopped speaking, Lucius smoothly picked up where he had left off. “Miss le Fey is one of those who we were about to discuss, having not provided a gift for Yule or your birthing day, my Lord. She is also one of those rare few who could not be marked. I believe both Goyle and Severus did the preliminary test, and her system refused all inks. Probably her fae heritage. Apart from that, I can offer little information, except that she is very quiet, efficient and always seems to be deeply engrossed in some form of research whenever I see her.” He paused for a moment in thought, and added skeptically, “I doubt you care overmuch, but she is rarely at any meals.”

Voldemort processed the information and matched it up to what he already knew about the unassuming young woman who managed his Library. She was in her late twenties, had graduated from Hogwarts as a Hufflepuff (which shocked the few surviving Ravenclaw heirs), and had mostly distinguished herself by being completely undistinguishable. Looking at Goyle, he quirked an eyebrow in query, to which Goyle immediately replied, “She won’t say, my Lord. All she said – with irritating urgency, to be truthful -- is that she has to see you tonight. For what it’s worth, my Legilimency didn’t catch anything, but it wouldn’t, of course.” 

The three men nodded, and then exchanged slightly amused looks. Apart from looking like muggle bobbleheads, they were actually acknowledging the fact that the position of Voldemort’s Librarian would require a Master Legilimens, and Goyle was at best at tradesman level. Raising his hand slightly, Voldemort instructed Goyle, “Send her in and close the door.”

Goyle nodded, showing no surprise, and stepped out. Moments later, a woman entered the Study somewhat hesitantly, flinching slightly as the doors shut quietly behind her. She paused at the console table that ran along the back of the sofa and looked around, trying to get her bearings, and provided a few moments for the three men to gain a clearer impression of her.

She was of somewhat shorter than average height for a female, perhaps five foot four or so, which made her fully a foot shorter than the three men in the Study with her. Her build was somewhat hard to determine, given the fact that she was wearing a long, full skirt that reached mid-calf and an overlarge sweater. Based on her face and hands, she seemed to have a normal form – neither too thin nor too heavy, although her bones seemed perhaps a bit finer than the norm. Her face was partially obscured beneath long tendrils of wavy hair that seemed as if it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be blond, red or brunette, since it was liberally streaked with each of the shades. Although it was pulled back in a loose tail that seemed to be twisted upon itself a few times, her distinctive hair was definitely quite long. Voldemort noted with some fascination that one of the tendrils that had escaped to trail down her cheekbone extended below her hip. Her face was pretty enough – not particularly outstanding. Apart from her hair, she seemed to the three men to be remarkably average.

Until she looked directly at Voldemort, and they saw her eyes.

Those eyes were achingly intelligent. The fact that they were nearly aquamarine with silver flecks would have been enough to demand attention, but the sheer force of the mind behind those eyes was breathtaking.

And then she blinked, and was once again an average, reasonably pretty Librarian.

“Forgive me, my Lord and gentlemen,” she began, glancing at Severus and Lucius before focusing again on Voldemort. “My Lord … I … I don’t know if you’ve noticed or care that I did not manage to give you a gift on time, but … it’s almost ready and I need your help to finish it. It has to be tonight, my Lord. I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

She stood somewhat awkwardly near the doorway, and Voldemort finally noticed that she was carrying a bulky object low in her arms, as if it was very heavy. Gesturing her into the room, he watched as she first tried to walk around the far end of the sofa, near the wall and away from him, before she realized her mistake. Flushing in embarrassment, she turned and walked along the back of the sofa, turning to cross between it and Voldemort’s chair, in order to enter the seating area. She stopped in front of the vacant sofa, standing uncomfortably between it and the huge, square, stone coffee table. And she waited.

Voldemort did not make it easy on her. He studied her closely, as did Lucius and Severus, and waited to see how long it would be before she began to shift beneath the weight of their combined stares. After several minutes passed and she remained still, he cocked his eyebrow and said in a soft, somewhat threatening tone, “Explain why you feel justified in interrupting my evening, Miss le Fey.”

She looked at him quickly, then glanced down before tightening her jaw and looking at him again. Her expression was determined. “My Lord, may I put this down on the table? It’s very heavy, and quite precious.” At his slow nod, she set the fabric-wrapped item down very carefully on the stone table, sighing gratefully at the respite, then straightened fully. Tossing her hair out of her eyes, she once again looked at Lord Voldemort, and he was abruptly aware of the fact that she was looking directly into his eyes, fearless and focused. For that alone, he would have given her these few minutes of his time; very few people were ever able to meet his crimson stare.

“My Lord, I have been studying some of the lost family magics of my Line,” she began, and suddenly the three wizards in the room were intensely focused on the diffident young woman. The Line of Morgana le Fey was rumored to have considerably more abilities than the healing and such that they were known for, although virtually all of the documented history about the le Feys had vanished along with that of Merlin and several other vaunted magical Houses.

“I began to hear and feel certain … callings? … in my magic around my sixteenth birthday. I was not in a situation where I could pursue a detailed study of them, at the time, and the noise of my magic gradually grew worse and worse,” she said quietly, the evenness of her tone somehow underlining the increasing pain and desperation she felt during those months and years. “I was trapped at Hogwarts, my Lord. My guardians served the Light, and Dumbledore was far too interested in me as it was.” Her eyes dropped from Voldemort’s, and the powerful wizard began to get a picture of the probable torment she had endured, stifling her magic and trying to avoid the attention of the ever-inquisitive Headmaster.

For the second time since she had entered the study, Voldemort spoke. “Who were your guardians?” 

She raised her eyes again, their aquamarine depths filled with bitterness, and said in the flat tone of a survivor of one hell or another, “James and Lily Potter.”

Lucius raised his eyebrows in delicate surprise, and glanced at Severus to gauge his reaction. The Potions Master was staring at the little Librarian with narrowed eyes, his mouth thinly compressed.

Voldemort, too, was looking at Severus, and his tone was darkly questioning and dangerous. “Severus? Were you aware that the Potters had a child in their home apart from Harry?” The very idea that the Potters had not one, but two, children to corrupt and mismanage was intensely disturbing. James had abandoned the ways of his family and his Line, turning his back on Charlus and Dorea and forsaking the majority of his inheritance in favor of becoming a ‘yes, dear’ husband to the overbearing Lily Potter and sucking up to Albus Dumbledore. Even Potter’s schoolfriends -- Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew – had turned from James when he betrayed his own child and heir on Lily’s and Dumbledore’s command. It was no secret that young Harry had been deprived of all knowledge of the Old Ways of Magic and was raised from birth to take over the role of “Leader of the Light” when Dumbledore finally turned it over, although Voldemort was certain that would never happen. He believed it far more likely that Harry Potter had been raised as a sacrifice to the ideals of Albus Dumbledore, and would somehow – probably at the hands of Voldemort or one of his people – would be martyred for the Light.

And now, they were learning that Harry was not alone; that a child from one of the most powerful Dark magical families had been imprisoned alongside him. How had they not known?

Severus said harshly, “I knew nothing of this. I did hear rumors here and there of a young cousin of Lily’s who visited occasionally …” He was interrupted by Miss le Fey’s sound of disgust. 

Gesturing to the sofa, Voldemort said calmly, “Sit, Miss le Fey. Explain this.” Fully expecting the young woman’s immediate cooperation, he blinked in shock when she instead summoned a ‘tempus’ and checked the time, before frowning at him. He stared at her as his mind tried to process the fact that this forgettable little female was standing in his Study, frowning at the Dark Lord! From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucius turn away to hide his small smile, turning back only when he had raised his wine glass to disguise his quirking mouth.

Le Fey studied the time briefly before dismissing it and sitting gracefully, saying in a voice that forbade argument, “Very well. I can spare roughly five minutes, but then I must focus on the purpose for my visit here, else we lose an entire year’s worth of effort to the vagaries of the calendar.” Seeing that the slightly-stunned Dark Lord made no objection, she began to explain.

“I was removed from my home with the Carrows on my eleventh birthday, when my Hogwarts letter arrived via Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore, along with a Transfer of Guardianship signed by the Supreme Mugwump himself. That was when I learned that there is no appeal to be made beyond that Office; the Supreme Mugwump is the final authority with regard to guardianship for any magical child who has no surviving relatives within two degrees of separation. By the way, I have since begun a project to track specifically who has been placed or relocated by Dumbledore and where. It may interest you to know that several Dark Pureblood and Halfblood so-called ‘orphans’ have been relocated into Light families.” Seeing Voldemort’s immediate glare, she forestalled his demand with a quelling look and the assurance that she would forward all information to him in a day or two.  
Staring at her as he closed his mouth without uttering a word, Voldemort saw Severus lean over to Lucius and mutter, “It must be a Librarian-thing. Pince has the same power, you know.” Aiming a scowl at his two old friends, he turned back to the woman on the sofa and gestured for her to continue. She would have anyway, but he wanted to at least pretend he was in control of this conversation.

Checking the time again, le Fey spoke more quickly. “I was placed with James and Lily Potter. James, as you probably know, is completely without a mind of his own beyond endless pranking and a phenomenal capacity for whinging. Lily is probably Grindelwald’s long-lost daughter; she is just that controlling and vicious. Harry and I were introduced when I was eleven and he was five. We were bound by vow against our wills to keep my presence in their home secret. We ended up working together to outwit the “Order of the Phoenix” and their sycophants in their quest to make Harry DBP and to explore and exploit my abilities.”

Severus, somewhat overwhelmed, questioned faintly, “DPB?”

Sketching runes in the air around the package and on the package itself, Miss le Fey clarified tersely, “No, DBP – Dumbledore’s Butt Plug.” She returned Lucius’s grin mischievously, and went back to her explanation as the three suddenly saw the fae charm of the young woman in front of them.

“You will find that Harry, who on his twenty-third birthday is supposed to officially accept his DBP title, is not on sabbatical as he claimed but is living with Charlus and Dorea Potter and is preparing to pledge himself to the Dark. I was actually supposed to broach that topic with you next month, my Lord, and please do not interrupt; we are running out of time!” She glared very effectively at Severus, who had uttered a startled protest, and nodded in satisfaction when the cowed potions master sat back in his seat.

Unable to repress an amused grin as he watched the slip of a woman intimidate one of his fiercest Death Eaters, Voldemort said mildly, “As you insist we are working under a time constraint for this mysterious project, let us concentrate on that. We will meet immediately Monday morning to discuss everything – and I do mean everything, Miss le Fey. Block out the entire day, understand? With that in mind, let us progress to the original reason for your visit tonight.”

Nodding in relieved agreement, Alaria le Fey startled the Dark Lord with a grateful smile that somehow ignited her singular eyes with a radiant glow and turned her from pretty to exquisitely lovely. He was still staring in surprised appreciation when she turned back to the bulky item she had set on the table and said briskly, “It has always been my goal to use every ability I have to serve the Dark, my Lord. The efforts of my guardians,” she spat the word as if it was filth, “only crystallized my determination. The fact that all written documentation of le Fey family magics is lost was challenging to overcome, but I am certain I have adequately developed one talent that will serve you and the Dark very well, my Lord.” As she spoke, she was unwrapping the item she had brought, revealing a finely sanded block of lumber – it looked like a beautiful slab of yew – and a sheet of delicate, handmade glass. The quality of each was exquisite.

Ignoring their close study, the young woman continued speaking. “It has taken me over fourteen months to get this right. Once I isolated this Wild Talent, I had to hone it. Then I had to think about how I could use it to serve you, my Lord. When I decided on the best possible choice, I had to find the raw materials and hand craft everything, including the tools I used to shape these two beauties. I had to bless them according to the phases of every moon and I even took them to the Masters of each Element to ensure they are properly blessed.” She cast a teasing, sideways glance upward to study the Dark Lord as she added charmingly, “For the record, it is difficult to convince a horny triton to concentrate on magical blessings when his inclinations distract him from the task.”

Blinking as the seemingly staid young woman suddenly seemed coy and remarkably appealing, the three wizards struggled to follow the plot as she rapidly clarified her visit. They were beginning to realize that Alaria le Fey was not as she seemed. Or, perhaps she was exactly as she seemed, but also so much more. Mulling this over, Voldemort had to force himself to concentrate as she continued speaking.

“In any event, it is all done and ready, and just in time, too! We have just under two hours to complete this – oh, don’t give me that look, I’m not the one who scheduled all the appointments and trips that filled your time since your birthday! -- and all I require for most of that time, my Lord, is your close attention to ensure I don’t blow up your Manor.” She sneaked an impish glance up at him from her position kneeling on the floor in front of the stone table, and giggled lightly as her words sank in. Once again, she interrupted him as he began to protest, somehow soothing his instinctive air of command into passivity without being in any way offensive. “Mr. Goyle is very dedicated in his duties of protecting your time from being invaded by your followers, my Lord. I tried very hard, but I could not seem to convince him that your Librarian would have anything of real importance to discuss with you.”

Exchanging long glances, Lucius and Severus realized at the same time that they, too, had prevented the little Librarian from accessing their Lord. They had each received notes from Goyle, listing Miss le Fey’s request along with numerous other details and minutiae that Goyle needed advice on, and apparently neither of them had seen fit to approve her request. If this went bad, there would be hell to pay. As if reading their minds, le Fey addressed their deepest worry of the moment as she worked quickly and carefully with the wood and glass. 

“Fear not, gentlemen, I would not even consider this if I felt I could not do it perfectly. However, I will be testing the success of this after I’ve crafted it properly – aren’t we lucky there is a meeting of the Phoenix tonight in Dumbledore’s office! – and I will definitely be weakened at the conclusion. I must explain this part now. My Lord, once the creation is done, you will have up to four hours – true dawn is one minute too late -- to become its sole master. To do so, you place four drops of your blood into the orb at cardinal points, and command the orb from your authority as the Dark Lord to serve only you. That’s what I decided to call this, by the way. ‘Orb’, I mean. I could give it a very important name, but for all I know this is entirely my creation – I’m fairly certain it is, anyway. I never heard of Morgana having such a thing, nor anyone else. So, ‘Orb” it is!” 

Voldemort realized she was nervous, and despite the ongoing mystery as to what her ‘Orb’ was meant to do, he could not help but admire her. From what he could gather, she had worked on this project of hers for over a year now, going to extraordinary lengths to ensure that it was perfect and powerful, and in the end had been forced by the efficiency of his staff to invade his Study. Despite each of the remarkable – and, yes, somewhat adorable – quirks and characteristics she was revealing about herself, Miss Alaria le Fey was not given to forcing herself on others. Considering the fact that she had been living in his Manor for two and a half years and he and his closest men had only the barest knowledge of her, she was clearly not a gregarious type of person. Once this evening’s effort concluded, he would be getting to know this young woman and ensuring that he was adequately informed on all of the abilities she had or thought she had within her blood.

It hurt nothing at all that she was becoming increasingly appealing to him with every tilt of the head and delightful comment.

As if a shadow passed over the moon, the mercurial mood of the little Librarian changed again. Where a slightly jittery young woman had been kneeling, there was suddenly a calm, focused witch in complete command of her magic. She knelt before the stone table, hands extended to either side of the yew and glass, and summoned her magic. Voldemort watched, enthralled with the control she showed, as Alaria le Fey proved she belonged to her Line. The Power in her hands extended through and across the glass and the yew, connecting between her palms and rolling back, spinning and twisting and shaping the elements into something new. Something amazing.  
It took over an hour for the magic to work with the incredible control of a master and the exacting technique of an artisan. An hour that raced past with the speed of light, and lumbered with the pain of quivering muscles and sweat-dampened hair. But eventually, the heat of the magic faded and began to cool, and the glare eased into a glow, and the three wizards saw what the little Librarian had dubbed ‘the Orb’.

As she sighed in exhaustion and sat back on her heels, Alaria dropped her hands to the stone table and released her magic to fly free again. On the table before her was a large orb of finest glass, resting on a curved, supporting base of yew. Magic swirled and rippled within the globe, which was easily two feet in diameter. It was beautiful. It was exquisite. It was … 

“What is it?” Severus asked bluntly. Despite the harshness of his tone, his question was valid, and even Miss le Fey laughed, albeit wearily, as she raised a trembling hand to push damp hair from her forehead.

To his own surprise and greatly contrary to his nature, Voldemort summoned a house elf and, within mere seconds, was pressing a damp, soft, blessedly cool cloth to her forehead. Grateful beyond measure, she leaned into his hand and sighed in relief, smiling slightly with eyes closed at his small chuckle. Rather than return to his chair, he settled himself on the sofa behind her, long leg resting against her arm, and pressed a second cool cloth to her neck when she took control of the first.

An hour ago, both Lucius and Severus would have denied the possibility of such a scene ever occurring. Thomas Voldemort was many things – powerful, brilliant, wealthy, dedicated, even loyal – but he was not a tender or caring man. He was a Dark Lord, in every sense. However, in the past hour, the Dark Lord’s Right and Left Hand had witnessed magic they hadn’t even heard of before, wielded with proficiency by an apparently average young woman, and they had seen the truth of that woman.

She was anything but average. This young woman, being personally tended by the Dark Lord with close and atypical concern, was Alaria le Fey, blood heir to Morgana le Fey. And they saw, perhaps sooner than Thomas or Alaria did, that they were witnessing the beginning of their Lord’s Courtship of the witch who seemed likely to become their Lord’s Lady.

Satisfied that she was no longer in danger of fainting, Thomas reached over and picked up the glass of water he had summoned and held it in front of the young witch’s face. Seeing that her eyes were closed, he said with quiet amusement, “I appreciate your right to it, but this is not the time for a nap. Drink this.” He drew his breath in reaction and held it as she blinked and the swirling glow from the Orb turned the silver-flecked aquamarine of her eyes to translucent jewels. He surrendered the glass as she reached for it and found that he could not look away. 

How was this one woman so changeable?

She drained half of the glass before she stopped drinking and felt herself becoming alert and focused once again. Sending an apologetic look at Severus, whose question had remained unanswered for at least a minute or two now, Alaria carefully reached around to place the glass on the side table next to Voldemort, only to find herself leaning against the Dark Lord’s legs as she stretched. She ducked her head in embarrassment when he took the glass from her hand and set it on the table, chuckling at her efforts. She shook her head ruefully, muttering, “Obviously I’m not as recovered as I thought.”

Rubbing the cool cloth over her flushed face, she set it down and began the painful task of trying to unfold and stand. She had remained kneeling for at least an hour now, and seemed to be numb from toes to waist. Giving it up as a lost cause for now, she settled awkwardly next to the Dark Lord’s feet, absently noting the high polish on the wizard’s shoes, and carefully stretched her legs out with her hands, studying the Orb the entire time.

Just as they thought she would not answer, she started to speak. “As far as I know, Master Snape, this is the first of its kind. I got the idea in Trelawney’s Divination Class – probably the only time that woman has offered anything of worth to the magical world. This is considerably more than a crystal ball or anything else she offered, however. This, my Lord, is both a master spy and a master thief, and once you dedicate it, it will serve only you and your Heirs.”

Voldemort leaned over to study the Orb, carefully avoiding pressing on the young woman’s legs, which he knew were springing back to agonizing life as blood returned to them. He had watched with fascination as the witch at his feet had literally manipulated the very essence of glass and wood. He had seen in the original sheet of glass that magic existed within every grain of sand from which the glass was created. He knew, now, that the yew was fused entirely to the Orb, and served to ground the incredible magic that lived and breathed within the thin glass. Really, the Orb’s surface was so thin and delicate it looked like a soap bubble. He was afraid to even breathe on it, for fear of it shattering.

Which is why he could not restrain his undignified yelp of dismay when the little devil at his feet reached up and snapped the Orb – hard – with her finger. The bell-like tone that resulted arrested his look of censure and distracted him from his irritation. On the other side of the Orb, Voldemort could see that Lucius and Severus were equally amazed, first at the musicality of the Orb, and second at its resilience.

Le Fey spoke dryly into the fascinated silence. “It would hardly be effective if it was too delicate to breathe around, don’t you think?” She returned the three glares aimed at her with an impish, tired grin and said calmly, “You could throw it at a wall and make a new doorway, if you wanted to. Believe me, this is stronger than it looks. I didn’t use silica; I used diamond dust and titanium particles, infused each grain with power, and welded each speck together with magic. Or did you think I just spent 78 minutes basically blowing a big bubble?”

Lucius braced himself for the Dark Lord’s sharp reprimand, and was left mentally floundering when Voldemort uttered a sharp bark of laughter and said respectfully, “Apologies, my dear Miss le Fey. Although it really was a spectacular little light show.” Next to Lucius, Severus sat blinking, his shock showing clearly in the obsidian eyes that stared incredulously at his friend and Lord. 

Turning his head to look at Lucius, Severus whispered almost silently from the corner of his mouth, “Is Thomas … bantering?” Lucius responded with a shrug, accompanied by both a nod and a head shake, which conveyed his own confusion admirably.

Wincing as the last of the feeling returned to her legs with a vengeance, the Librarian retorted, “Just call me Alaria, please, my Lord. Everytime you say ‘Miss le Fey’, I feel like looking around for Dumbledore.” She laughed quietly at Voldemort’s prompt, “We can’t have that! Alaria it is.”

Voldemort looked down at the witch – Alaria – who was still seated on the floor and was presently wincing and hissing lightly at the vengeful pins and needles torturing her legs. Glancing up at his potions master, he said with clear command, “Severus?” Implicit in the name was the order: fix this now.

Staring briefly in confusion, Severus then blinked as he understood what his Lord wanted and leaned around the glowing Orb to look at the young woman on the floor. “Miss le Fey? Will your remaining tasks for the night be effected by a pain potion?” 

Voldemort’s attention didn’t waver from Alaria as she gasped and bit her lip against the next increase in pain. He smirked slightly when she snapped irritably, “Damn it, it’s Alaria, all right? And, yes, I can take a pain potion and want one really badly! Why is this hurting so much? It should be fading by now!” As the pain continued to increase without surcease, he could feel the controlled young woman beginning to panic.

Voldemort took the uncorked vial from Severus’s outstretched hand and smelled it before holding it to Alaria’s lips, saying commandingly, “Open.” He raised his eyebrows as she obeyed unthinkingly, and smirked down at her when she scowled at him even as he tipped the potion into her mouth. He felt his magic stretching and purring like a great hunting cat, and closed his eyes briefly in pleasure as it rubbed up against Alaria’s magic. Compared to his more aggressive power, her’s seemed more quiet, more calm, more …. His eyes opened abruptly as he suddenly realized what his instincts and magic was trying to tell him. He opened his mage sight briefly and studied what his mind had already confirmed.

This young witch, sitting unselfconsciously at his feet, was his magical complement. Where he was commanding, she was responsive. Where he was aggressive, she was passive. When she was in pain, he reacted with care. While she created, he guarded.

Where he was dominant… she was submissive.

She provoked a number of uncharacteristic responses in him. It had been years since he last noticed that another person was attractive, or charming, or mischievous, or enticing, or … Shaking his head mentally, he pulled himself back on track, and settled for understanding that she seemed to make him see things and behave in ways he normally would not. Really, when was the last time (or even the first time) he had ever even noticed that another person would benefit from a cool cloth on their forehead or neck, much less wielded it himself?! And, apart from all of this, she made his magic purr.

Watching approvingly as the pain potion began to take effect, he smirked again, gently, as he reached over and used his thumb to wipe a drop of potion from her bottom lip. She was watching him closely, as if he really was the great hunting cat his magic currently reminded him of. Well, if he was the lion, she was definitely the doe. Predator. Prey.

‘Perfect!’ he mentally purred. Aloud, he explained confidently, “Your magic runs through your blood. You were kneeling, and restricting it. Now, it’s all flowing back, along with your blood.” He watched with pride as realization dawned in her intelligent eyes. No further explanation was needed, which delighted him. He hated having to explain what seemed so obvious to him, and didn’t particularly care that his own intelligence was light years beyond that of the average person.

As she turned back to study the Orb, Thomas sent a sharp, meaningful look at his two old friend, and was rewarded with understanding nods. They had caught the undercurrents of his interactions with Alaria, as well. From this point forward, this young witch would be carefully guarded and monitored. She was far too interesting, and had too profound an impact on him, to remain unprotected.

Oblivious to the silent conversation, Alaria began speaking as she reluctantly resumed her kneeling position in front of the Orb. “Now, to prove the theory,” she murmured quietly, as if to herself, and placed both palms firmly on the shimmering Orb. “Gentlemen, if each of you would concentrate solely on envisioning the Hogwarts’ Headmaster’s Office, it would be helpful.”

Startled, each man rapidly put together her explanation of the Orb as a master spy, and promptly began to fiercely concentrate on the office of Albus Dumbledore. If they each wore a particularly malicious grin, it was understandable.

Slowly, as four powerful minds focused intently on a single image that was channeled through the magic of Alaria’s hands into the Orb, a room began to form. A very familiar room, filled with dozing portraits, eccentric knickknacks and mechanical devices, heavy furniture, velvet curtains – and people. Several people, at least a dozen or more, who all had one thing in common – they were each members of the Order of the Phoenix. And seated at the desk, in grand ignorance of their lurking presence, was Albus Dumbledore himself.

Within seconds, sound began to accompany the picture, and Voldemort and his men found themselves listening in on what had to be the singlemost boring meeting of a warlike political party – ever! Albus Dumbledore enjoyed pontificating, and smugly twinkled and lemon-dropped his way through one person after another, giving overbearingly personal orders disguised as sage wisdom, and dispensing sadly disappointed looks with an even hand. It would have been unbearably boring to the three Dark wizards, if not for Alaria.

She ignored every word that was spoken, and concentrated on her magic. Thomas watched in complete fascination as the little Librarian once again turned into a master mage. She ran a hand caressingly over the surface of the Orb, seeming to collect in her palm a very fine mist that she then crafted and spun into a long, almost impossibly thin needle. This, she inserted delicately into the globe. The wizards held their breath collectively as the needle seemed to enter the Headmaster’s Office, unseen by its oblivious occupants, and hovered over each person like a crystal javelin. With the certain touch of a surgical healer, Alaria le Fey stung the exposed skin of every person in the office, and then stung each portrait, the Sorting Hat, and Fawkes. Of them all, only Fawkes reacted, turning to stare upward at Alaria with ageless eyes, before ruffling his feathers with a distinct sense of “I don’t care” and returning to his nap. With each jab of the needle, the person targeted reacted as if to an insect sting or a minor itch. When she was done, Alaria had samples from every senior member and several junior members of the Order.

Watching with bated breath, Thomas, Lucius and Severus delighted in the woman’s sure touch and certain magics. They weren’t positive of the reason for her actions, although they had an inkling. After all, she was drawing samples of either blood, magic or both. Whatever her reasoning, it could only be good for the Dark Lord and his people.

Delicately withdrawing the needle, Alaria smiled triumphantly up at Thomas, and handed him the needle with extreme care, pointed away from the Dark Lord, requesting respectfully, “Hold this a moment, please, my Lord? Only you or I can touch it.” At his nod of agreement, she dropped her hands to the large, yew base of the Orb and stroked lightly along the surface, summoning a small drawer from the wood. Accepting the needle back from the Dark Lord, she carefully placed it in the drawer and nudged it closed with her magic, explaining, “So long as the essence of a person is held within the probe, which is made from the same magic and elements as the Orb, you will be able to follow and spy on that person. So far, my Lord, you are able to sit in the comfort of your Study and spy on Dumbledore, Moody, McGonogall and all the professors, all of the portraits that reside in the office, Filch, Aberforth, all of the Weasleys barring Percy, some of the Aurors, and the two Gryffindors who are supposed to be Harry’s best friends. That means you have access to all of Hogwarts, the Hogshead, Gringott’s Bank courtesy of Bill Weasley, a dragon preserve if you want it, several departments and offices of the Ministry of Magic, anyplace that Alastor Moody and the Aurors go, etc.” She looked around to watch as the import of what she had just given the Dark Lord began to set in, and flushed with pride when he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed in pure delight.

Alaria shivered at the Dark Lord’s touch, and wondered at herself and her odd reaction to the powerful wizard. She had long ago accepted the fact that she was somehow distant from other people, entirely disinterested in the pursuits of the flesh that so engrossed and delighted most people, especially those near her own age. Even the very masculine Triton she had persuaded to bless the yew and glass had not succeeded in seducing her, despite his best efforts.

And yet, every time the Dark Lord so much as moved near her, much less touched her, she found her thoughts momentarily scattered and her heart rate and breathing slightly disrupted. Frowning, she resolved to consider all of this in greater detail later, when she had time and opportunity. She had a sinking feeling that her reaction, and the unusually accommodating behavior of the Dark Lord, might have something to do with one of the lesser facts she had uncovered during her intensive search of her Line’s sense memory. Something about being capable of resisting all bonds except those of the Darkest magics, which was probably why her body refused the Dark Mark. She suspected at the time that none of her blood and magic would ever participate in such a broadly-dispersed bonding.

Shaking her head impatiently, she willfully dismissed those stray thoughts and directed her attention back to the matters at hand. At the moment, she was very busy indeed, and needed to focus.

Which she could do better if the Dark Lord would take his warm, strong hand off her shoulder! Leaning forward slightly on the pretext of looking at Snape and Malfoy, she drew a sharp breath when the Dark Lord’s hand simply moved with her, and cast a bewildered look up at him to see him smirking down at her with a knowing gleam in his eye. Flustered, she scowled in response and flushed slightly, wondering what his ‘knowing gleam’ was about. What, exactly, was he ‘knowing’? And why didn’t she know it, too?

Allowing her scowl to deepen into a glare, which had the total effect of exactly nothing against the powerful ego of the Dark Lord, Alaria huffed in exasperation and resigned herself to concentrating on the topic at hand. With that in mind, she glanced self-consciously over at Snape and Malfoy, who fortunately – or perhaps just pityingly – were ignoring all personal interactions on this side of the table. Grateful for their ignorance – or kindness – she expanded on her explanations as the four of them watched the members of the Order leave the Headmaster’s Office in small groups. “In addition to following and spying on the people I just tagged, my Lord, you can use the probe to tag other people that they encounter. At some point, I imagine that either Weasley senior or Dumbledore will meet up with the Minister for Magic and various members of the Wizengamot and the ICW. Just be really, really careful as you tag them. Given the people we already have tagged, I don’t imagine it’ll take much before you have reliable access to places like the Department of Mysteries, Gringott’s private offices, etc.” 

Studying the two Dark wizards seated opposite her, Alaria somehow discerned their less savory thoughts and said with careful dryness, “No matter how hard you tag them, you can’t kill them. All you’ll do is betray the fact that something is wrong and catch their attention. Part of the blessing of the Elementals included the caveat that this would not be a tool for assassination; it would put far too much power in one person’s hands.” She was unsurprised at the disappointment in their eyes, and carefully didn’t look up at the Dark Lord when he murmured in her ear, “Was that the Elementals’ idea – or yours, little Alaria?” She was certain if she looked at him, he would have another knowing gleam in his eyes, and she could barely handle the first one! She was very thankful to Snape when he asked cautiously, “You said this … Orb… is both a master spy, and a master thief. How so the latter?”

Smiling at the man’s formal manner of speaking, she studied the now-empty Headmaster’s Office and said with tense anticipation, “Hopefully, I’m about to show you.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Dark Lord and recoiled slightly to find his face much closer than she had expected. Stammering slightly, she instructed, “My Lord, if you will watch this with your mage sight active, please?” She waited until he nodded in acknowledgment, finding herself appreciating the fact that the man rarely spoke if there wasn’t a need, and turned back to the Orb.

Thomas summoned his mage sight, and allowed himself to settle into the odd vision that superimposed itself on his normal sight. With mage sight, he could watch all of the currents and flows of magic around him. It required years of practice to do this with any regularity and without emerging from the session with a migraine, but he had accomplished that milestone several decades ago. Now, magesight was as simple as putting on a pair of muggle sunglasses – which were actually one of the inventions of muggles that he had come to enjoy.

He watched with appreciation for her skill, power and delicate touch as Alaria pulled her magic out of her body and into the space occupied by her aura. Here was the area in which a talented witch or wizard could best craft their magic, although few were aware or powerful enough to do so. The ease and skill with which she manipulated her magic showed that Alaria le Fey was both aware and powerful. Thomas was not in the least bit surprised. What she had already given him in the Orb was gift enough to win her a permanent place of wealth and ease for life. It was even enough to cause him to consider courting her, even if she never did another thing. Just creating an heir or two with their combined blood and magics would be an incredible achievement. 

And yet, she seemed about to give him even more.

Thomas was fascinated as he studied the magics that Alaria manipulated as she controlled the orb. He reacted as if she had caressed him as she stroked a single finger lightly across the orb diagonally from bottom to top, and he hissed in delight as the view of the Headmaster’s Office abruptly zoomed in. She did it again, and then again, until the three wizards found themselves staring at a very close-up view of Dumbledore’s desk. Thomas could not help but shiver in an atavistic reaction as Alaria reached forward and slowly pierced the Orb with her own hand, sinking into the fabric of the Orb as if it were gel. The surface seemed to bend to her hand before popping back, allowing her hand access. They watched, completely frozen and even holding their breath, as Alaria extended her arm into the Orb and touched the Headmaster’s desk.

Concentrating fiercely, both Thomas and Alaria studied the protective magics and alarms that booby-trapped the desk. Thomas didn’t know what she wanted from that drawer, but by Merlin and Morgana, he was going to help her get it! Just the exercise alone was educational; whatever she came back with would be frosting on the cake of this wonderfully, surprising meal she had prepared for him.

Together, they negotiated the traps, Alaria responding with perfect obedience and control to every whispered direction and murmured caution of the Dark Lord, who was now leaning against her back, head positioned on her shoulder in the intensity of effort to see exactly what she was seeing. Finally, she opened the drawer, taking comfort from the powerful body against her back and holding her breath in anticipation of alarms that never came. Allowing herself one small sigh of relief, she slowly reached into the drawer, all the way back, and then curved her hand to somehow reach up and over the false back that none of the three wizards had even spotted.

Lucius and Severus sat tensely, eyes focused and every muscle frozen in anxious support of their little thief. Once again, they held their breath as Alaria slowly retracted her hand from the drawer, carefully clinging to something she had retrieved from Dumbledore’s hiding spot. With agonizing care, she edged backwards, slowly rebuilding each trap and trigger as they retreated. Thomas was now actively supporting her to keep her trembling body from falling forward into the magical glass, one strong arm positioned across her ribs and wrapping upward between her breasts so that his hand rested on her shoulder as she stole something secret and vital and somehow important to the Dark Lord from the very heart of the Phoenix's nest.

Painstaking inch by painstaking inch, Alaria retreated, clinging with purest will to the object she had stolen. Just as she closed the drawer and rebuilt the last trap, her strength failed, and for a horrifying moment she was certain she had failed along with it. But she was held tight in the Dark Lord’s arms, and he was more than strong enough for both of them. Obeying his murmured command to just keep her arm frozen and extended, she felt the powerful Lord pull her backward slowly and smoothly, supporting her body completely as he extracted her from the Headmaster’s Office and from the magic of the Orb without leaving a single ripple to show she had been there.

Fist clenched in a painful spasm around that which she had stolen, Alaria could not keep herself from emitting a single, exhausted sob as she fell backward against Lord Voldemort and shook. Nor could she prevent the tears of relief and success from running down her face, although she tried to hide them beneath her hair as she dropped her head forward. When he turned her around and pulled her back into his arms, she had the brief thought that she’d been foolish to think she could hide anything from him, but then all thought was gone as the tension and worry and stress and anxiety and sheer, unmitigated effort of the past fourteen months, and the crescendo of it all over the past few hours, came crashing down and sent her into exhausted weeping, secure in the arms of the Dark Lord.

Blinking and stretching his neck as he slowly recovered from the tension of the past half hour or so, Lucius realized that Severus was trying to not draw their Lord’s attention as he attempted to peel Lucius’ fingers from his thigh. Abruptly focusing, the Malfoy Lord had to stifle an incongruous snicker as he realized that he had sunk his fingers clawlike into his oldest friend’s thigh and drawn blood, and poor Severus was trying to make him let go so that he could stop the bleeding. Slowly peeling his fingers from Severus’s leg, Lucius leaned forward to laugh quietly in his friend’s ear and muttered, “Sorry, Sev. I’ll make it up to you with a sampling from the 1440 Usquebaugh taken from Clan McGonagall when they supported the Bonnie Prince.”

Severus had an uncharacteristic grin of pure enjoyment on his face, even as he flinched at the deep clawmarks in his thigh, and erupted in open laughter that summoned forth Lucius’ laughter in accompaniment. Neither man could remember when they had last been so lost in a moment or enjoyed an evening more than tonight, and it was all thanks to the wit, wisdom, courage and power of their little Librarian.

Well …. Librarian cum Master Spy cum Master Thief, that is.

Leaning on each other in helpless laughter, the two dark wizards looked over at their Lord and Master and wondered if they were about to punished severely for this complete lapse of decorum. But no, it seemed that the Dark Lord Voldemort had a greater concern at the moment, and she was wrapped securely in the Dark Lord’s powerful arms and weeping against his broad chest. Both the Dark Lord and Alaria were clearly exhausted and elated, and Alaria was unquestionably well past her ability to cope with even one more thing. Very pleased with the abilities of the Orb she had created for him, and with Alaria on her own merits, Voldemort just held her and let her cry, rubbing strong, warm hands soothingly across her back and rocking her slightly as she shivered and wept. Normally, the mere thought of one his followers dissolving into such an emotional mess would have probably earned someone a crucio or two, but he had been with her every second of the past two hours and knew that this small woman had used more power and mental capacity in that brief time than the majority of his Death Eaters were capable of generating and sustaining for even ten minutes.

And in the long minutes during which he held the shuddering, weeping, exhausted witch during her recovery, Lord Thomas Marvolo Voldemort made a decision. This woman had more than earned a place in his Inner Circle, but he found he wanted more from her. Just three hours ago, he had no interest at all in taking a spouse, male or female. The only person he had ever truly wanted at his side was lost to the past and to the Light’s determined annihilation of all knowledge and means by which he could bring his heart’s yearning back to the living world. Voldemort had thought to eventually choose a Dark pureblood and make him a true heir through blood adoption. But now, somehow, Alaria le Fey had awakened the Dark Lord’s determination to take a spouse and create heirs the time-honored way.

Voldemort was nothing if not decisive; he rarely made a decision without acting on it immediately. Besides, both his blood and his magic were purring at the presence of the woman in his arms. This was one of those times where he reveled in being Lord and Master; his every desire became law. And he desired Alaria le Fey.

So mote it be.

Somehow, during Alaria’s emotional meltdown in his arms, Thomas summoned his personal house elf again and made the arrangements that would result in the young witch being in his bed and at his side by dawn’s light. He assumed she would cooperate, having registered and understood her submissive response to his more dominant magic and character. In truth, it didn’t particularly matter if she cooperated or not. Certainly, he would not force her, but he would not accept a refusal or delay, either. Just one of the little perks of being a true Dark Lord. 

As she wept and shook, Thomas arranged for his bed to be newly made up in coolest silk, for extra pillows to be provided in the style that the Lady Malfoy and other fine ladies preferred, and appropriate nightwear be prepared for the young lady as well. He demanded that all of Miss le Fey’s possessions be retrieved from her room within the Manor and brought into the Master Suite. He instructed the elves to convert the unused nursery into a private study/library for the Lady le Fey, and to decorate for now in the tones and colors that seemed most prevalent in her most often-worn items of wardrobe. He also advised that if Alaria had a favorite elf, that elf should be assigned to care for her during the next several days until things could be fully sorted out.

Alaria, lost in tears and shakes and loud thoughts of sheer relief, heard none of it. She only surfaced back to the conversation of the three Dark Wizards after the house elf left and she found herself, once again, having her face washed with a cool, damp cloth by the Dark Lord Voldemort. Blinking as she slowly returned to what she might refer to as a reasonable state of mind, she grumbled quietly, “I can wash my own face, you know, my Lord.”

Voldemort ignored her efforts to take control of the washcloth, pinning one hand down between his ribs and his elbow as he continued his attentions. Finally satisfied, he threaded the long fingers of both hands through her multi-colored hair and tilted her triangular-shaped face up to his. Smiling down into her bewildered face, he said with quiet confidence, “You can, and when you aren’t shaking and reacting to the ordeal you are enduring, I will allow you to. Otherwise, I will do it for you.“ He tapped admonishingly against the arched eyebrows that had started to draw together in a preparatory scowl and said firmly, “You will not argue with me, Alaria. I am your Lord and Master, and in very short time I will be more than that, unless you have a particularly strong and pertinent objection otherwise.”

He studied her blank, shocked stare for a moment before dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead and declaring, “We will table that discussion for when you are more coherent.” He kept her tightly in his arms, most often pressed against his chest, and glanced over to see how Lucius and Severus were faring. They looked exhausted, but Lucius was still alert enough to say, “Remember, my Lord, Miss le Fey said you must attune the Orb   
to yourself with four drops of blood at the cardinal points.”

Nodding abruptly, Thomas turned to lift Alaria in his arms before settling her gently against the cushions on the long couch. Summoning a soft blanket, he draped it over her trembling form, smiling briefly at the stunned expression on her pretty face, then turned back to the Orb and swiftly but efficiently performed the procedure that bound the Orb to his will. Turning back, he saw that Alaria had watched and supervised even this little bit of procedure, despite her profound bewilderment, and was now holding her hand out toward Thomas – her clenched hand. 

Gently taking her hand in his own, he helped her to release her clenched fingers from around the object she held so tightly. Finally, it sat in his palm, and he kissed her hand in reward before turning his attention to seeing just what she had deemed vital enough to steal for him. All he knew for certain was that it would be something meaningful to him in some way. Knowing Dumbledore, it would probably be an object of power or strong meaning to the Slytherin Line.

Drawing his breath in shock, Thomas stared, stunned, at the object in his hand. It was something he had been told by Gringott’s had been destroyed in a fire in the Founders’ Vault, thirty years ago. Its loss was the reason he had reached the conclusion that he would never take a spouse or bondmate. He had been devastated at the news of the destructive fire, as had the twice-ensouled portrait of Salazar Slytherin that graced Thomas’ bedroom.

Salazar Slytherin – the one person for whom Thomas’s very soul yearned. Who yearned for Thomas, too. Darkest bondmates, separated by a millennium, and the machinations of the Light.

Until Alaria.

There, gifted to him by his beautiful little thief and sitting in the palm of his hand, was Salazar Slytherin’s locket -- and horcrux. The rest of his ancestor’s soul lived in the Founder’s portrait. It was the slightest sliver of hope that somehow they would find a way to return Salazar to blooded life that kept Thomas from claiming the Slytherin Lordship for himself. So long as even a possibility existed, he was content to remain the Heir of Slytherin, and to search for a way to bring its true Lord to his side.

Family legend held that when the portrait and the locket reunite in the presence of a heart-bonded Slytherin heir, it was possible for Salazar to return to living form. The only magic that existed that could unite the two was that of the Old Families; lost knowledge that had disappeared over the centuries through the determined efforts of the Light. With the loss of that knowledge, the only way for a divided soul to return whole and entire to life was through the combined, soulbonded magics of the living heir and a bondmate from one of the ancient families. It was a failsafe, built into the blood and magic of the most powerful Old Lines. Should the conditions be right, should the need be true, should the magical world require such a union – then, and only then, would one of the rarest of soulbonds ignite. A triadic soulbond, powerful enough to defeat Death and Time.

Thomas had never even allowed himself to entertain the dream of it happening, since the locket was by all accounts destroyed, and none of the families had any of the old magics to help them along. He had almost given up, almost surrendered to what he and Salazar both believed to be inevitable – and then came Alaria, mercurial, magnificent, brilliant Alaria.

Submissive Alaria.

And she was bearing gifts.

Now, studying the priceless locket that held half of his ancient love’s soul, and the young woman who had obtained it for him but also seemed to have captured part of his own soul for herself, Thomas shook his head in wonder. Had she chosen this item simply in an effort to prove she could steal something that rightfully belonged with the Heir of Slytherin and return it to Thomas as a demonstration of both her skill and her devotion? Perhaps she thoughts so.

Magic was certainly capable of such a deceit.

With an intense surge of pure elation, Thomas Voldemort suddenly found himself with the possibility – nay, the probability – that his most precious and hopeless dream could come true.

Tonight.

Barking a quick order to his two old friends to secure the Orb, Thomas lifted his little Alaria into his arms, tightened his grasp on Slytherin’s locket, and headed purposefully upstairs to the Master Suite and Salazar’s portrait.

It was time to make some magic. Dark, delicious, utterly delectable magic.  
ooooooooooooooooo


	2. Picture Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little more lemony and voyeuristic.

ooooooooooooooooo  
PICTURE PERFECT

By the time he entered his private suite, the house elves had completed their work. The imposing man nodded approvingly at the changes he saw as he strode through his private parlor and into the bedroom.  
In his arms, Alaria le Fey was just beginning to stir back to wakefulness, lines of pain furrowing her forehead and drawing her arched eyebrows together in protest. Blinking painfully, she peered through narrowed eyes and tried to understand what was happening.

Distantly, she heard her Lord’s distinctive baritone murmuring quietly to someone, and heard an even deeper male voice reply. She tried to concentrate, knowing that she could not afford to be inattentive if her Lord was present in the room with her, but the blinding pain in her head and practically bleeding from her eyes defeated her.

Even as she sank back into unconsciousness, she did not realize that the comforting warmth surrounding her were the arms of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

ooo

From his portrait prison, Salazar Slytherin looked down on the petite witch in his beloved Thomas’s arms and shook his head in reverent disbelief. She looked so small, lying there. Delicate. Fragile.

It was so hard to comprehend that this tiny little woman had just recently powered some of the most difficult of the lost magics ever heard of, and in doing so, had returned to Salazar the means to bring blood and muscle and blessedly beating heart to his endless half-life. Alaria le Fey had reached across hundreds of miles and storm-tossed sea to open a desk drawer and retrieve hope and life and soul to the tormented matebond of Salazar and Thomas.

Through the horcrux clutched in Thomas’s hand, Salazar’s soul could be rejoined to itself; whole once more. And through the very nature of the beautiful creature lying unconscious before him, the crushing loss of the grimoires that contained the painstaking, magical details to return Salazar to physical life was negated. They did not need to have the written spells and potions and wisdom that would help them find that magic.

Alaria le Fey was that magic.

Even through the portraiting barrier that separated him from his true love, Salazar could feel the truth of the young woman Thomas cradled. Earlier, as he watched discreetly from his portrait in the Study, he had felt her bond magic, faint but growing stronger with every moment. He had been astonished to realize that he felt attraction to the unprepossessing little witch, and slightly hurt to understand that Thomas felt the same. But as she knelt at the stone table, Salazar watched the small woman wield power and magic like a priestess of his day, offering gift upon gift to her Lord and Master. To his Thomas.

And he had approved as Thomas began to consider the possibility of allowing her into his life, his bed – their bed, even if the joining of the two, powerful wizards had never once involved true touch or physical bonding. By the time Thomas had decided to include Alaria le Fey in his life, Salazar was wholly in agreement. She was powerful, intelligent, attractive, interesting – and delightfully submissive, despite her feisty demeanor. Given what little he knew of the dearth of the young woman’s social life, he felt it likely that she herself did not even realize how very submissive she was, or would be, with the proper mate. ‘Mates,’ he corrected himself. Salazar had been resigned to his ongoing survival of observing, loving, but never touching, his beloved Thomas, but he knew that such an existence was torment to his living, breathing lover. Poor Thomas could not really live so long as Salazar merely survived, untouchable and unattainable. It was a gift of the Fates, that the little Librarian had drawn Thomas’s eye. 

It was a blessing.

And then, she had retrieved her last gift, held securely in Thomas’s arms, and had handed to her Lord and Master the living soul of Salazar Slytherin.

As if he was following Salazar’s thoughts, Thomas’s arms tightened protectively around the delicate form he held pressed to his chest. And as two sets of blood-red eyes met, the two men trembled with the knowledge that this little fae was the priceless key to the rarest of bonds. Just this morning, they had been grimly-accepting of their roles as a soulbonded pair separated by time, death and the coldblooded machinations of those who worked to defeat the Old Ways of magic. But now, less than a full day later, they stared together at the miraculous, magical fae who would ignite their bond, change their destinies and join them together in an almost unheard-of triadic soulbond.

And she didn’t even know it.

“Your bath is ready, Master,” came Bastion’s reedy voice. Salazar barely glanced at the house elf, although Thomas turned slightly to look sternly on the small servant, who stood with complete poise near the bathroom door. If one formed an opinion based on Bastion’s demeanor, one might believe that the scene he looked upon was common, as if the sight of Master Thomas standing in his bedroom holding an unconscious witch and preparing to bathe her was in no way interesting.

That was the value of rewarding one’s house elves. Had Lucius been anywhere nearby, Thomas would have smirked at him. Or crucio’d him for being nearby.

Probably both.

“Go,” Thomas said quietly to Bastion. With a deferential nod, the elf popped out of the room, and Thomas felt an extra level of wards and seals settle over his private suite. From now until Thomas or Salazar commanded it, no one would enter or leave his rooms except Bastion, and he would do so only under extreme need. All else was prepared.  
Eyes meeting in a last moment of contemplation, Salazar smiled gently at his beloved mate and sent a wave of encouraging magic, warm with love and rich with passion, to Thomas. Without hesitation, Thomas turned and carried his irreplaceable burden into the richly-appointed bathroom, sensing Salazar moving through his portrait into the room with him.

Kneeling to lay Alaria’s whimpering form down upon the thick, soft rug, he studied her face for a long moment, taking in the delicate features that he had mistaken for merely pretty, and observing the pain that wrinkled her brow and marred her aura. He ran a gentle hand through her hair, and murmured low, “Thank you for all that you have done for us, little wonder, and for all that you are about to do. I can barely fathom the sacrifices you made, the dedication you showed, in bringing your gifts to fruition for me. Now, it is my right and my privilege to bring your efforts full circle. I pledge you, Alaria le Fey, I will always protect, provide for and cherish you, from this moment forward.”

He began to gently, carefully, remove the young woman’s clothing as Salazar leaned closer from his portrait near the massive bathtub filled with scented water, watching with reverent eyes, and murmured a solemn and hushed, “As will I, young one. I do so vow.”

ooooooooooooooooooo

“Alaria,” a voice murmured. It was deep and low, and somehow familiar. Rousing slightly, she flinched as the pain in her head surged, and tried to retreat again into deeper unconsciousness.

The voice wouldn’t let her.

“Alaria,” it said more firmly, but still low in deference to her pain. “Wake just a little. Take this potion to ease your reaction headache.” A cool, glass vial nudged her lips, insistently, until she opened her mouth to protest and the potion flowed into her mouth and down her throat.

Swallowing reflexively, she raised a shaky hand to push the bottle away, although it was already retreating. As she moved, she heard the sound of splashing, and wondered at it. Opening her eyes to look, she flinched sharply at the pain that stabbed through her head along with the light, and closed her eyes with a moan, turning her head slightly to hide as best she could. Her face moved against a source of steady warmth and comfort, and she sought shelter against it without hesitation.

Merlin, she felt so tired! Even as she yearned for sleep, she automatically struggled to call up her mental schedule for the lunar and ritual cycle for the yew and the diamond-glass. She wrinkled her brow in thought, eyes still stubbornly closed, and tried to recall whether she had done the latest blessing or did she still need to do it. What date was this, anyway? The last thing she remembered was writing yet another almost panicked note to that stodgy old Goyle, trying to figure out still another way to say – without saying – that she was dangerously close to storming the elaborately-carved doors of the Dark Lord’s Study and demanding his attention for the … for.. the …

Silver-flecked aquamarine eyes flew open with a startled gasp as Alaria abruptly recalled all of the details of the past several hours. But as water splashed around and over her and she choked and flailed, completely at a loss as to her current environment, she had a brief moment of ironic acknowledgement of the fact that she was clearly missing some vital information.

Such as, why was she in a bathtub? Slim fingers cautiously ran across her stomach and she blinked in shock.

Naked! She was in a bathtub, naked. Why? Not that she particularly wanted to be in a filled bathtub while clothed, but still! Confused eyes looked around and focused abruptly on the wickedly smirking portrait of a darkly handsome wizard who was staring down on her with heated, crimson eyes.

Naked in a bathtub with a peeping tom! What the hell? It took a moment for her to process that she had said that aloud, or the meaning of the reply when the smirking wizard in the portrait said with amusement, “No, my dear. I would be a ‘peeping Salazar’, if we are to be accurate. He, on the other hand, would fully qualify as a ‘peeping Tom’.” The wizard’s long, silver hair moved slightly, catching the light as he nodded toward something behind her.

Hands positioned over her bosom, Alaria stared in mortification at the portrait and replayed the words, praying there was some other meaning possible. She wasn’t stupid, of course. Even with a migraine, fast-receding, she was more than capable of putting together an allusion like that with the fact that she had just spent several hours in the presence of the Dark Lord she had served faithfully for thirty months now. Of course, she got the joke. Lord Thomas Voldemort / ‘Peeping Tom’. Ha ha. Funny.

Didn’t mean she was going to look. Nope, not a chance. She was going to summon that big, fluffy towel over there, wrap it around herself, and do her level best to leave this situation without ever looking at the man whose naked chest and strong arms were currently supporting her while she reclined against him, bewilderingly nude, in the biggest damn bathtub she had ever seen.

Determinedly ignoring the lecherous, lordly wizard who was watching in dark amusement, she concentrated on summoning the towel. Wordlessly and wandlessly. Not easy to do when naked and mortified and afraid in the presence of two virile males. Even if one of them was just paint and magic.

A wet, muscular arm circled around her waist while the man’s other arm lifted, allowing the wizard to push her head back onto his slick, powerful chest. She felt a chin settle on top of her head, cradling her comfortingly, as the Dark Lord’s voice rumbled compassionately, “Not going to happen, baby. You’re here to stay.”

She couldn’t help it. She whimpered.

ooo

This couldn’t be happening. This kind of thing just didn’t really happen. Alaria lived in a world filled with magic and mystery, and she could say without hesitation that this kind of thing just did not happen. Especially not to boring librarians who sidelined in magical theft.

But as the Dark Lord Voldemort carefully and calmly bathed her, disregarding her protests and blushes and struggles to cover herself, he and the ensouled portrait of Lord Salazar Slytherin explained exactly what was going on, and why these things apparently can and do happen. Furthemore, that it is happening right this moment, right here, right now – to her. 

Whether she liked it, or not. Whether she agreed, or not. Whether she cooperated, or not. Tonight she was bonding with Lord Voldemort, and then somehow they were going to bring Salazar Slytherin back to life, and he would bond with her – and apparently, the two wizards would bond with each other, too. An incredibly rare, trillion-to-one, triadic union.

Whether she wanted it, or not.

It happened around the same time that she felt her Lord’s magic, accompanied by an even darker magic, brush up against her and start to twine around her magic, as if it had every right to be there. As if, somehow, they had earned the right to fuse to her, and her to them. She didn’t know where it was coming from, or why she had never felt it to such a degree before. She only knew that when Thomas stood and lifted her from the tub, water streaming off their bodies, the eyes of the two wizards moving over her naked skin ignited something she had only rarely experienced.

Defiance.

Without really thinking about the fact that she was challenging the Lord to whom she had sworn allegiance, the Darkest and most powerful wizard alive today, Alaria pushed herself from the helpful arms, yanked the towel from his hands and swirled it around herself, and then tilted her head back and glared up into startled crimson eyes.

It was only as the eyes began to darken with anger that she saw the handprint on his cheek slowly deepening.  
Huh. She must have slapped him. That was probably what the sharp crack was she had heard. Normally, she would have been mortified at her own actions and terrified at what was to come. But angry defiance was flooding through her, and her blood was heating in rebellion, and her magic was trying to crackle and lash out. 

In the portrait, an increasingly keen-eyed Salazar observed as aquamarine eyes met crimson in pure challenge, and he could almost visually see the transitions as Alaria the Librarian moved aside – for Alaria le Fey.

Salazar watched, intensity in his posture and his stare, as his two soon-to-be-bondmates faced off. He had been stunned to see the charming, delightfully shy little beauty suddenly emerge from the bathtub like a young battle goddess. Stunned and painfully, shockingly aroused. Even as he watched, he saw what was human in the small woman retreat, submerged beneath the primal magic and animalistic instincts of a true fae. Old magic lived and breathed once again, igniting the pull between the three and setting off a magical series of events that would lead to the re-embodiment of Salazar and the completion of their triadic bond.

Breathless in awe at the sight of the fae creature spitting defiance and magic in their private suite, Salazar’s mind travelled back to the milquetoast stories that were what Light wizards taught their young about the deadly fae. In the few, endless heartbeats before battle commenced, Salazar recalled how he had laughed when one of the younglings – a Malfoy, Lucius’s child – had related to him the version of the faeries told at the now hopelessly Light-oriented Hogwarts. Draco had disdainfully related to him how the redheaded, freckled chit had listened breathlessly as a ‘buck-toothed, bushy-headed mudblood’ had spoken of sweet, sparkly, adorably feminine creatures of the Elements who befriended humans, played mischievous little games, saved lives and retrieved lost objects with equal kindness, and routinely fell in love with muggles. Young Draco had stalked past the wide-eyed romanticists, seized Old Magic: True Tales of the Fae from the shelves in the Restricted Section, and dropped the book onto the table with an ominous thump. He then leaned over the shoulder of the naïve know-it-all and drawled mockingly, “If you wish to claim magical heritage, know the damn heritage. A true fae wouldn’t sparkle and flirt; they would sooner drive you mad with terror before sending you to their pets for their supper.” And as he stalked away, he spat with pure disgust, “Mudbloods!” , and then proudly and publicly accepted his subsequent deduction of house points and detention, given at dinner by Dumbledore in an attempt to cow young Malfoy. Draco had reputedly received applause by all the Dark children in the Great Hall and most of the professors. 

Salazar had determined the truth of Draco’s story, related with pride by Professor Snape, and then arranged to reward the young Dark wizard. Lucius was justifiably proud of his heir, and informed him that Draco was using his irrevocable open access to the Hogwarts Library to further the cause of the Dark. He had even provided the insufferable mudblood with a completely restricted text which she had coveted, on the condition that she read five of the true histories Draco provided her and wrote a paper on the validity of the cause of the Dark. She had apparently written a series of papers, good enough to be considered for publication, on the fallacies of ‘fairy tales’. Numerous muggleborns and other witches and wizards of the Light were deeply resentful of her attempts to ‘slur’ their sweet, fluffy fairies, imps and elves.

He wondered what those breathless, foolish people would think if they could see his and Thomas’s ‘sweet little fairy’ right this moment. He was fairly certain they would run for their mommies – or their pet Headmaster. 

Urinating all the way.

No, his little Alaria le Fey was in no way a cuddly creature of a Light-slanted fairie tale. Not at the moment, anyway. She was not a fairy; she was faerie. Gone in an instant was the confused, embarrassed, beautiful little witch of the bathtub. In her place, was a virago.

Alaria’s eyes shone in her face, aquamarine light intermixed with purest silver sparkles. Hmm, perhaps that was where muggles got the idea of sparkling fairies? If so, that proved conclusively that they were idiots. Those ageless eyes were filled with magic and power, and Salazar was certain if a non-magical being looked upon her at this moment, it would be dead. There was no compassion in those eyes, nothing of humanity. This was a magical creature, ruled by power and instincts. She was all regal fury and beautiful defiance. And he and Thomas could see, in every line of her outraged form, in every flash of her otherworldly eyes, that she was fully prepared to be lethal in defense of herself and her bed.

After all, a Submissive Fae is still very much a Fae.

Long, wild, multi-colored hair seemed to come alive with magic, and the enthralled men suddenly realized that her hair was not really blond, red and brunette. It was gold, platinum, copper, bronze—metallic. Like her beautiful eyes, Alaria’s hair was magical metal; soft and silken to the touch, but reflective, refractive and highly conductive – or disruptive – of power. Their little bondmate was designed by nature to store, create and transmit magic. 

Her hair was literally swirling and flashing in the waves of emotion that infused her aura. Her eyes were alight. Her skin flowed with ethereal life. By all the gods and goddesses, she was exquisite.

And really, really pissed.

Thomas had watched her rapid transition from ‘I’m-a-quiet-Librarian’ to ‘I’ll-kill-you-if-you-touch-me’ with narrowed eyes and tensing muscles. Alaria had become fully immersed in her creature aspect within seconds, moving from panicked consideration of their implacable words to enraged defender of her virtue with no warning. It was a little bit frightening, in truth, knowing that he had to subdue, seduce and demand submission from the living she-devil who was beginning to prowl around him, startling eyes fixed on him and lethal intent evident in her flexing claws – ‘when did that happen?!’, he thought wildly – and raging magic. Somehow, he had to subdue and seduce her, without most of his magic, and Salazar got to sit and watch. It was maddening!

It was also exhilarating. Sending a mocking look of dark promise at Salazar, who smirked and saluted, Thomas pulled his mind fully into tight focus and allowed his baser instincts to come forward. Their little fae wanted a fight for freedom, but he would give her a true, magical creature, dominance mating display. There was a damn good reason both he and Salazar had blood-colored eyes.

That wasn’t exactly a common, human trait, after all.

Thomas tightened the wards that prevented magical casting and mentally threw that rope to Salazar, who seized it with a will and snapped the wards down beneath his indomitable power. Now, the only person in the room who could cast was Salazar. From this point forward, it would be a purely physical battle for dominance.

He took her by surprise, launching from a standing position forward and smashing into her lithe form before she could leap away. Wrapping strong arms around her, he lifted her struggling body and brought her to the floor, following her down and pinning her beneath his greater weight.

There was very little chance that Alaria would win this fight, but she didn’t seem to understand that. As   
Thomas’s heavy body launched across the room and brought her crashing to the floor, she twisted and fought like the wild thing she was. Pinned to the floor, she was halfway out of his arms and almost free before he caught her again and hauled her back. Every single second before he successfully trapped her completely, he paid for in blood. By the time she was tightly and securely in his arms, he was bleeding from dozens of scratches and a couple of bites, and the enraged woman he fought to secure was doing her best to head-butt him. And still she fought, teeth bared and snarling like a caged tigress.

It might have been a function of their creature heritage, or maybe just another aspect of being a very dominant Dark Lord, but her struggles only managed to incite her ardor. With every furious wiggle and scream of rage, Thomas’s arousal grew. In his present state, if she managed a lucky knee-strike, he would be crippled for days.

Apparently, Alaria had the same thought, and committed herself wholeheartedly to the attempt. Her efforts backfired on her spectacularly, though, because not only was Thomas successful in confining her struggles and forcing her into immobility, but he was also incensed at her antics. It did not matter to him, in any way, that Alaria was, in a sense, the victim here. He did not care that she was left with no choice, and that she was angry and afraid. He did not care that she was reacting instinctively, and that her very nature had demanded he prove his dominance.  
What he cared about was the fact that his submissive was not submitting. And when she tried to put her knee into his groin, he put her in her place. Emphatically.

From his portrait, confidently containing the allowable magic in the room and closely observing the dominance and submission display between his mates, Salazar felt a deep, rumbling purr in his chest when he watched Thomas – beautiful, strong, powerful Thomas – pin the wildly struggling Alaria to the carpeted floor, force her head to the side, and seize her at the tender joining of neck and shoulder in a sharp, powerful bite of claiming. Eyes glowing an eerie blood red, canine teeth sharper and more elongated than normal, bloody scratches highlighting the naked skin gleaming over his clenching and rippling muscles of arms, back, buttocks and thighs – Thomas was the living embodiment of a Dominant mate.

Salazar had never wanted Thomas so badly as he did at this moment. But he wanted Alaria as well. ‘Soon,’ he crooned to his nude, bloodied mates, scowling a bit at the towel Alaria stubbornly clung to, licking his lips in pure desire as Thomas asserted dominance over Alaria and hissing in approval as her innately submissive nature took her over.

ooo

Delighting in and fighting with the freedom that the emergence of her fae nature gave her, Alaria had felt powerful and confident, unashamed of her nakedness and untroubled by her smaller form. Even when he knocked her to the floor, Alaria had been certain she could escape from Thomas and flee. She had never even considered, once she was fully infused in her fae aspect, that any dominant would ever conquer her. She was beautiful and wild and indominatable; it was only arrogance for this foolish creature and his disembodied mate to seek her submission! She ignored the thrill of warning that ran up her spine at the sight of his glowing red eyes and lengthening canines. It did not matter that he was a stronger creature than she, because she was a true fae and would not be conquered.

When his teeth sank into her Vedas core, her chakra of innate nature, and her body went lax, she could not believe she had lost. But his growl of pure dominance, demanding she show her submission, vibrated through her core and forcibly subdued her defiance. Before she could summon enough human thought to resist, her fae had taken the decision from her, uttering a soft whine of compliance and tilting her head to further display her vulnerable throat to her mate.

‘Her mate,’ she thought bitterly, and keened in distress. She was afraid, now. Both her human and fae aspects were in full agreement on this point: no dominant ever treated his submissive mate with dignity and respect and freedom. Alaria had known a boy at Hogwarts, a submissive vampire, who was already marked and claimed by his Dominant at age eleven, and was so constrained by the elder vampire that he could not even walk unescorted through the hallways. Everything she had worked for, all that she had tried to accomplish, now seemed lost with the teeth that clamped on her Vedas core. The worst part of all was that she had started all of this herself, by arrogantly retrieving what she knew to be a stolen Slytherin heirloom from Dumbledore’s desk. She wondered if Harry had known what he was truly doing when he told her what the Headmaster had shown him. Had Harry intentionally sought her imprisonment in the bed of the Dark Lord? Confused and afraid, she complied with her Dominant’s demand and released the shards of magic she had managed to gather and shape into a weapon, throat clenching on a sob as the magic vaporized and blew away on an unseen breeze.

Rewarding her with a purring growl that allowed her frozen limbs to unlock, Thomas removed his teeth and carefully, proudly began to lick her blood off of the claiming bite. Tears leaked from Alaria’s beautiful eyes and rolled down the sides of her face, some ending up beneath Thomas’s tongue and earning his attention to her distress. As his own creature receded, the wizard became aware of her shivering and shuddering and realized that she was still frightened, still confused – and still unbedded. He approved of her fear, knowing that it was a true indication that the purity of her nature matched her virginal body. This was as it should be; they were magical creatures, despite being partly-human, and this was their Way. He had earned the position as her Dominant mate. She was his submissive, and he had every right to her body. In truth, had he for some unimaginable reason chosen to abstain from bedding her, her own magic would have turned against her. Yes, she was afraid of him and of their imminent mating, and he would use this time to begin to teach her to trust him, to enjoy his attentions, and to submit as her nature – and his – demanded. Full humans might not understand this, but they didn’t have to. 

Thomas and Alaria and Salazar were not just better than humans, but they were also better than most magical creatures. A triadic union was royalty.

Gently licking away her tears, Thomas murmured soft words of comfort and praise, but he firmly removed Alaria’s protesting hands as she struggled to cling to her towel. With a stern look of warning, he moved back slightly, untucked the magically-sealed towel, and pulled it from her body. Both Thomas and Salazar smiled slightly as their frightened submissive tried shyly to cover herself with just her trembling hands and long hair. Running an appreciate gaze over her now nude form, Thomas had to take her hands in his own and pin them to the floor as he studied her bared body. A few feet away, he heard his beloved Salazar’s throatily purred, “Beautiful, is she not, beloved?” and nodded in reverent agreement. He cast a brief glance over to meet Salazar’s eyes, and felt his arousal spike higher at the sight of his powerful mate’s hard erection pushing against his trousers. Sweeping his burning, ruby stare over Salazar, he said huskily, “You’re overdressed.” 

With a shared look of anticipation, Thomas turned back to rise to his knees and lift Alaria into his arms, gaining his feet easily. Her indrawn gasp of surprise at his strength made him want to purr in pride and approval of her appreciation, unashamed of his arrogance. He had every right to be arrogant: in his fifth decade, with dark hair just beginning to silver and small character lines showing that he smiled often enough and thought deeply, Lord Thomas Voldemort was a stunningly handsome man in his prime. His nakedness revealed powerful muscles and an overall form that would inspire artists. His broad shoulders and chest were sculpted, his legs long and beautifully muscled. His buttocks were visibly hard, his trim waist was firm and defined. His stomach was flat and taut, seeming to belong to a much younger man. And his manhood, rising proudly from a nest of dark, curly hair, was long, thick and fully engorged.

He was everything a Dominant male should be, and more. And Alaria was terrified.

When he crossed the room and laid her down upon the soft velvet bedspread, Alaria began to shiver again. She didn’t know what to do when he stepped back to the side of the bed, standing with feet apart and hands on hips, powerful thighs and taut stomach highlighting his fully aroused masculinity. The look on his face was worrying her: his crimson eyes were somehow darker, his face slightly flushed and normally neat hair uncombed. She didn’t want to look his face, with the expression she could only describe as ‘hungry’. Briefly dropping her eyes was a mistake, as her gaze was drawn unerringly to the truly intimidating sight of his heavy arousal. Fidgeting, she struggled and failed against his unvoiced command that she not cover herself; it was impossible for her to lie here, nude, and not try to preserve her own modesty. Despite the giggling recounts she had unwillingly overheard from her former dorm mates about moments such as this, Alaria was most emphatically not overwhelmed with lust. Mostly, she was just feeling awkward, afraid, angry, upset, uncomfortable, afraid, bewildered, anxious and afraid. 

After all, she had always kept her body very much to herself, along with her emotions, and suddenly she found her ‘reward’ for her incredible gifts to the Dark Lord was to be forcibly bound not only to him, but to his own mate, too. So, yes, she was afraid. And definitely overwhelmed; this was all well beyond her experiences. She had only ever had very mild episodes of her creature nature rising to the fore, and none of them had prepared her for the all-consuming force of what had just occurred. Furthermore, her creature was shivering and shuddering right along with her, as she dealt with the reality of having a bleeding and painful claiming bite on her neck, given by the gleaming-eyed Dark Lord who was currently standing naked and aroused at the side of the bed as his heated stare swept over her with a look of pure ownership.

Again shifting uncomfortably, Alaria could not contain a small whimper of distress as she was overwhelmed by the knowledge that she was now also feeling something similar to excitement, although not quite. She was fully aware of what was going to happen to her, of what first the Dark Lord and then, supposedly, Salazar was going to do to her body with their bodies. She was twenty-seven years old; even though she was a virgin, she did understand the mechanics of it all. Perhaps it was an aspect of her fae heritage, but Alaria was pure by choice. That was obvious to anyone who could see an aura: anyone who had a strong sexuality could be identified by the …. the sort of sultry humidity….in their aura. Virgin or not, the aura of most people clearly showed active sexuality. Even masturbation would reflect in an aura enough to bely virginity. But Alaria le Fey was different. 

She had never joined the other girls in their giggling speculations and explorations, never being in the smallest bit interested in what sounded uncomfortable, undignified and messy. She had simply assumed that her lack of sexual interest was normal for her, and that she would live and die as a true asthetic, with no real enjoyments beyond that of the intellect. She had been perfectly happy with the idea of dying a virgin, and had managed to discourage even the most determined suitors (not the least of whom was the Triton who had blessed the Orb she gave the Dark Lord). 

But now, she had no choice. Now, suddenly, she was not just the Dark Lord’s devoted servant. Out of absolutely nowhere, with no warning of any kind to prepare her, she abruptly was immersed in her own aspect as a magical creature – something she had barely even needed to know, up til now. Her life had taken a terrifying, unexpected turn, and suddenly she belonged to Thomas, and would also belong to Salazar, and they would be using her body whenever and however they wanted it. She had never even had a clue that she was anything less than pushy, feisty and boring, but suddenly she was a submissive mate, apparently to two of the most dominant of all dominants anywhere, of any time. Ever! She had no control at all. No decisions were hers to make.

And, for some reason, that knowledge made her incredibly happy.

Even as she struggled to come to terms with her overwhelming thoughts and feelings and circumstances, she watched Thomas Voldemort as he watched her. After her first attempt, she did not look at him directly – having a nude, aroused, dominant male giving a close, heated inspection of her own unclothed form was far too disconcerting. She was completely incapable of brazening her way through this situation, even without the newly-awakened fae aspect within her spirit that kept trying to get her to lay back and display herself for her mate’s approval.

After seeing his hard manhood jump a little of its accord when his roaming eyes glanced toward the foot of the bed, Alaria flushed even more intensely and followed his stare. She almost choked on her own spit when a second pair of molten crimson eyes captured her eyes, standing almost as close to her as Thomas was. Blinking in complete surprise, Alaria realized that the back wall of Thomas’s enclosed bed, which she had assumed would be simply more of the dark, velvet bedcurtains that surrounded the bed in a dark, comforting cocoon of privacy, was in fact a huge, magical painting. From ceiling to footboard, bedpost to bedpost, was a life-sized magical painting that extended the flow of the view with perfect continuity. If someone were to lay in this bed against the pillows and gaze straight ahead, it would look as if they were simply staring at the rest of the room, complete with velvet curtains that wrapped behind the view in the foreground. The illusion was perfect, and it was impossible for Alaria to remember that she was looking at a portrait at all. Because there, at the foot of the bed, was a single, comfortable reading chair, positioned on a wide dais and facing the bed. Anyone who sat in it would be looking directly into the bed on which she currently lay, naked and shivering. The raised height of the dais on which the chair rested would provide a wonderful view of the occupants – and activities – of the bed.

And sitting in that chair, naked to the waist, with long, silver hair unbound and flowing down his powerful back, trousers on but unfastened at the waist, long legs stretched out and bare feet seeming to rest on the foot of Thomas’s bed, was Salazar Slytherin. His stare looked like lava, burning red and dangerous, as he studied her.

Alaria’s bared, nude form trembled violently on the bed, beautiful hair spilled wildly about her and partially obscuring her face. The multi-colored tresses that tried to cover her only enhanced her beautiful face and figure, and through the fall of hair over her face, he could just barely see her brilliant, aquamarine eyes watching him with trepidation. Heated crimson eyes followed the line of long hair downward, enjoying the flare of her hip and shadowed dip of her waist that were both revealed and concealed by the metallic, silken waves. He especially appreciated the sight of one rosy nipple peeking out, enhancing the soft weight of her breast.

His heavy stare moved to sweep over Thomas, his beautiful masculine body nude and aroused. Salazar’s tongue swept lazily over his own bottom lip as he watched a drop of pre-ejaculate form on the flushed head of Thomas’s beautiful cock, and he felt his own, heavy cock beginning to twitch in response.

Alaria felt very much the way any prey must feel beneath the hungry stare of not one, but two, powerful, hungry alpha males. Her nipples hardened in response to her trembling, and her mind as screaming at her to run when the two pairs of molten crimson eyes swept her naked body with looks of pure ownership. Watching Salazar, reclining in his chair with predatory grace, Alaria saw from the corner of her eye the way Thomas smiled down at her as he put one knee on the bed, raising an eyebrow in question to Salazar.

She could not restrain the strong shudder that took her entire body when Salazar murmured to her, his deep voice sensual and comforting, “Fear not, little one. We’ll take excellent care of you, always.” He then dropped his hand into his lap, palming his heavy erection slowly, and said to Thomas in a voice like darkest chocolate, “It is time, beloved. Take her.”

As Thomas moved, all Alaria could do was whimper.

oooooooooooooooooooo


	3. Picture Perfect -- a Closer Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Salazar turn up the heat on Alaria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (5/18/12): This chapter is dedicated to marksmom, who really, truly deserves a break. And to slayer of destiny, because we always joke about how, in our admiration of each other’s M-rated scenes, we always seem to think of the other when we’re writing them. That’s not weird or anything, right?
> 
> Gotta warn y’all, this chapter is basically PWP. Seriously. 
> 
> Happy Reading & Blessed Be, y’all!
> 
> WyrdSmith

oooooooooooooooooooo  
Ch3: ONCE IN A LIFETIME

Salazar felt his cock lengthen and thicken as he watched a predatory Thomas moving slowly forward onto the bed, crimson gaze locked on the shivering, terrified form of a naked Alaria le Fey. The fresh, bloody bite on her neck highlighted her nudity, somehow, and sent even more lust surging through Thomas’s body – a sensation of prideful arousal that Salazar felt through their soulbond, sending his own mirror-synapses firing rapidly.

Salazar leaned back in his chair, which had been positioned in this painting at the foot of Thomas’s bed from the day they resumed occupancy of Slytherin Manor. From this very spot, he and Thomas had conducted the majority of their sexual life – Salazar in this chair, Thomas in the bed, directing each other, watching, sharing, caressing and orgasming night after night. They had watched each other with hungry, often desperate eyes. Their magic had reached through the boundary separating them and done all of the touching for them, and their life together had been passionate and intense. Voyeurism had assumed an entirely new level for Thomas and Salazar. Even though they had never physically touched, both men knew that their sexual lives together were infinitely more satisfying and passionate than most married couples could claim. But tonight, finally, there was a likelihood that they could end this torturous, erotic halflife that tormented them both. Tonight, with the unanticipated addition of a third to their union, would be the night that Salazar left his portrait behind, and joined his lover in this big, beautiful bed.

Lovers, that is.

Usually, a gift of such magnitude required a sacrifice of equal measure. And, it could certainly be said that having to turn their glorious love affair into a triad was a sacrifice – to some. However, neither Salazar nor Thomas felt in any way conflicted or disturbed at the inclusion of the alluring, virginal, brilliant, intriguing, fierce Alaria le Fey in their lives and their bed.

Indeed, as Thomas stalked the frightened young woman, who was presently reaching for a pillow in the vain hope of covering her more delicious bits from the heated view of the two Dominants, Salazar was certain that his only regret would be the fact that Thomas got to take her first.

‘Still,’ he mused, reclining more comfortably to have better access to his twitching cock, ‘there are definitely benefits to having the best seat in the house.’ He pressed a strong hand onto his erection, rubbing soothingly as he watched the little beauty on the bed begin to panic the closer Thomas moved. This moment would probably encapsulate precisely why so few Light wizards and witches were magical creatures; almost all would probably view this moment as unsavory. Salazar laughed darkly (of course). This was as far from unsavory as he could imagine. 

This delicious moment was in every way worth savoring.

Just as Thomas placed his hand on her bare thigh, Alaria bolted. She shoved the pillow heavily into Thomas’s face and used all of her terrified adrenaline to push off with her feet and propel herself backward over the side of the bed, away from Thomas. At least, that was the plan. What really happened, however, is that – despite a faceful of pillow that he quickly batted aside – the little fae was caught halfway through her escape maneuver, leaving her extended full length on the bed, arms over her head and hanging over the side from her shoulders up. Thomas had caught her mid-leap, and was now resting atop her, strong hands gripping her waist and handsome face pressed against her breasts. He reacted predictably to Alaria’s increasingly panicked struggles, greatly enjoying every delicious wiggle of hip and jiggle of breast taking place so delightfully for his appreciation.

Alaria, suddenly realizing that she was not making any headway in her escape except to further arouse her Lord, pulled her arms back in, put both hands over her face, and began to sob. It had all gone so horribly wrong! All her effort, all her hard work and sacrifice, and now, rather than being rewarded with a modicum of respect in the ranks of the Dark Lord, she was in his bed! She had to face the realization that neither the Dark Lord currently pressed nude and hard against her nor the one watching lustfully from the chair at the foot of the bed cared in any way about her as a person. She was just a body to be fucked and a means by which to return Salazar to life, and her entire future was only going to be lived at the grace and whim of these two wizards who didn’t care about her at all. She was their pet, and she knew it. And the worst of all, to her, was the fact that so much of her inner nature seemed to be purring in contentment at the fact that her ‘alpha’ had showed his dominance so emphatically and desired her so much. She was confused and conflicted … and caught.

And all she could do was weep.

Both of the men felt her hopelessness through the bond that was beginning to form very lightly, activating out of the existence of the proscribed circumstances that Fate had laid out and the way their proximity to each other had begun to ignite their connection. Thomas and Salazar had been bonded for over thirty years now, despite the unusual situation, and so it was the two, together, whose souls and magics reached out for Alaria. She was their submissive. Of all the amazing facts that had presented themselves these past few hours, that one had the most resonance. Alaria was their submissive. She belonged to them, and they to her. As her Dominants, it was their right and their pleasure to protect her and keep her happy. Many people – most people – would have stopped their actions in the fact of such heartfelt sobs. Certainly, most men would probably lose at least some of their arousal in the face of a woman’s tears. 

But Thomas and Salazar were not most men. They were Dominants who stood at the apex of all other Dominants. They were alpha predators. They were brilliant, dangerous, cunning, and deeply passionate men. Even beyond that, they were magical creatures. And they understood that, having been forced to live within the Light for almost a decade, she did not fully understand what was happening to her. They had no doubt that, even now, the predjudices and misunderstandings of the Potters and the rest of Dumbledore’s people were running through her head on a condemnatory loop of thought. Nothing would reassure their little mate better than to complete the bond, and let the entirety of truth comfort and soothe her as she began to see what it really meant to be the   
Submissive mate to the two most powerful Dark Lords of all time.

Shifting slightly, Thomas dropped his head and began to explore the treasure upon which he rested. He ran his tongue in a long, questing line from Alaria’s rib cage to her navel, stopping to dip and swirl into the tempting shadow before journeying up again. His fine, strong nose nudged against the feminine weight of her breast, moving alluringly with each sob and quavering breath of its owner. His blood red eyes caressed the luscious bounty that trembled in his hands, and he watched in fascination as her nipples tightened into cherry red pebbles beneath his curious fingers. Deciding that they looked delicious, he lowered his head and ran his tongue in an exploratory circle around the hardened tip before sucking her nipple into his hot mouth. Delighted with the texture that pressed against his tongue and the sweet taste of her skin in his mouth, Thomas hummed in pleasure, tightened his securing grip on the naked hips, and settled down to savor.

Salazar’s stare was heated and incredibly intense as he watched his mates on the bed. They were merely a yard or so away from him, and he wanted to join them desperately. He felt the magic pulling and tugging, even as Thomas’s tongue pulled and tugged at Alaria’s nipple, and Salazar was certain that he would be freed from this portrait very soon. He could sense that his freedom hinged on the triad’s desire for each other being nearly equal. Alaria had to want them as much as they wanted her – challenging, considering he was limited to voice and magic, and Thomas was limited to everything except magic. It would happen, though, and soon. Both Salazar and Thomas could feel Alaria’s submissive creature reaching for her Dominants, despite her fears. Salazar let his magic flow out to his little mate, knowing that it would comfort her, at least enough for her body and instincts to take over. Having done all he could actively contribute, for now, he settled into following Thomas’s lead and savoring this experience. 

And truly, there was much to enjoy.

Salazar’s crimson eyes focused tightly on the beautiful, nude form of Thomas. He was such an incredibly masculine man! The elder wizard had to shift slightly to accommodate his increasing need. The sight on the bed was impossibly erotic. Thomas’s long, hard body was stretched firmly atop Alaria’s softer form. They were a study in opposites, yet perfect together. Salazar could probably achieve climax just for the sight of Thomas suckling and savoring Alaria’s breasts, his tongue swirling and tugging as his hands kneaded her flesh and his hips moved in small, unconscious thrusts against her curvy thighs. Alaria’s small hands were now deep in Thomas’s thick hair, holding his head to her without realizing she did so, her aquamarine eyes opened wide and – with a shock that went straight to his almost painfully-hard erection --Salazar abruptly realized that Alaria’s head was turned and she was staring directly at him, even as Thomas lay upon her, nude and wanting. He watched, enraptured, as their little mate’s hips rolled upward slightly with each tug of Thomas’s lips on her nipples, her confused eyes fixed on Salazar as if needing a safe anchor in this frightening new world.

He watched, mouth open and panting slightly, as Thomas’s long-fingered hand wandered confidently down the silken length of Alaria’s body, past the dip of her navel and sweep of her hip, and moved over the womanly swell of abdomen in an unerring glide between her parted thighs. Elegant fingers slid through curly, bronze hair in a smooth, slick caress that parted her nether lips and sank into the hot, delightfully wet core of their little mate.   
Alaria gasped in shock, and Thomas growled in approval, as Thomas’s sure fingers confidently explored and caressed her heated depths. Two fingers sank deeply into her wet body, thumb pressed confidently on the clitoris that she had barely even acknowledged before. As Salazar absorbed the erotic vibrations rebounding down the bond, Alaria’s bewildered wail of pleasure was all he needed to make him frantically undo his opened trousers and draw himself out, cradling his hard length with a hiss of caution as his smallest touch almost sent him overboard. 

Salazar kicked his trousers off impatiently, wrapping thumb and forefinger tightly around the base of his own cock in a near-stranglehold as he forced his orgasm back. As incredibly arousing as it was to watch his two mates writhing on the bed in front of him, Salazar was not going to cum until he was balls deep in one or the other of them. He had waited far too long to surrender the glory of that moment to his own impatience. With that in mind, he closed his eyes, trying to cut off as much stimulation as possible while his urgency retreated.

When he opened them again, he could not restrain his own moan, casting a glaring look of appeal at his smirking, demonic mate. Thomas had repositioned Alaria on the bed, and she was now lying with her head extending off the food of the bed, with Thomas’s head positioned between her spread thighs and his tongue eagerly licking and lapping at Alaria’s tender flesh. She stared directly at Salazar, mouth open in a silent scream of shocked pleasure, and if he were flesh … oh, Merlin, if he weren’t in the portrait! … he would be able to simply step forward and slide his desperate hardness directly into her open mouth. He could almost feel the hot, wet suction of her mouth around his needy cock, and could not help but moan again when Thomas raised his head from his luscious banquet, heatedly meeting his eyes as he wiped uncaringly at his chin. Thomas seized Salazar’s stare with his own, strong hands spreading Alaria’s thighs even farther, and kept their gazes locked as he pinned their little beauty to the bed and extended his tongue to delicately touch upon the center of her sensation. As his tongue tickled and vibrated against her swollen clitoris, two long fingers reached between her legs and entered her core, gathering her moisture and pressing deep inside even as Thomas’s tongue sent her reeling and his eyes stayed locked meaningfully with Salazar’s.

Alaria’s hand shot downward to seize Thomas’s hair, trying to pull his head away as the building sensation became too much for her and the triadic pathways began to hum with need. He refused her demand, instead capturing her hand in his and causing her to touch herself, forcing her hand to move with his along her soaking entrance and gathering the fluid that seemed to increase as Thomas’s wickedly skilled tongue completed its mission and sent her screaming into strange spasms of ecstasy. She felt his tongue flatten and somehow vibrate against her pulsing nub, forcing her pleasure to ramp up and peak again. His fingers moved within her skillfully, refusing to release her hand and using it as just another way to force sensation upon her. She began to shake her head in violent negation as she felt his other hand, which had been clutching her hip, dip into the moisture between her legs before moving to her buttocks, parting them even as she shuddered in orgasm and forcing a long finger into the dusky rosebud that hid there. Somehow, that last invasion trebled her seizures of pleasure, and with no other outlet, she threw her head back, eyes fixed wildly on her perfect view of Salazar’s cock, and screamed.

And it was then, with Alaria nearly mindless and both Thomas and Salazar increasingly and equally desperate for release, that Thomas pulled his and Alaria’s hands from between her thighs, both wet with the fluids of her pleasure, and leaned forward. His intense red stare never once left Salazar’s as he extended both his and Alaria’s hands past the end of the bed, over Alaria’s head, to Salazar. And somehow, without thinking about it, without even trying to understand it, Salazar released the near-stranglehold he had on himself and reached for them. Had he been thinking, he would have said that they would press hands against the portrait surface, as if each pressing against a window. But that isn’t what happened. Magic and sex and need and purest, desperate want stripped away the portraiting barrier, ripped the severed half of Salazar’s soul from the locket and flung it back into him, and with sound akin to a static snap, Salazar’s hand emerged from the portrait and grasped those of his mates.

Even as her body shuddered in pleasurable spasms, Alaria’s intent and magic were focused with her mates. Somehow, everything that she was, and everything that she knew, and all that her magic would allow her to be, crystallized, and it was she – the fae --who first touched and penetrated the portrait. It was she who allowed Salazar’s hand to emerge and grasp them. And it was she who guided the convergence of their magics that allowed the portrait itself to ripple and flex and dissolve, molecules rearranging and transmuting and becoming – life.

In the shaken moments that followed, the sounds in the room consisted entirely of gasps and tiny sobs. Stunned, Salazar and Thomas clung to each other’s hands, Alaria’s clasped between them, and stared into each other’s eyes in awe and doubt. They had wanted this, needed this, for so long, that it was almost impossible to believe it was real. Only Alaria’s soft hand, held between theirs and anchoring them together, convinced them. The fact that the tableau of them would have done any brothel proud only occurred to them much later. For now, they remained frozen, each naked, both men proudly aroused and poised by the gleaming, naked form of their little mate.

Together. Picture perfect.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N2: So, yeah … :::: ahem!::::: … How about this crazy weather we’re having? …. heh heh.


End file.
